


we can go back and play pretend

by segmentcalled



Series: if so, come on, let's go [6]
Category: Polygon/McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Daddy Kink, Established Relationship, Handcuffs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Polyamory, Power Play, Praise Kink, Roughhousing, Slapping, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-24 19:14:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20019631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/segmentcalled/pseuds/segmentcalled
Summary: “What’s your game, Gilbert?” Griffin growls, nose-to-nose with this smiling imp. He’s not even sure what Brian’s up to, exactly, just that he’s been needling Griffin allday, winding him up to snap.“Aw, daddy, I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Brian simpers. He hooks his index finger under Griffin’s chin, traces it down Griffin’s neck, down to his chest, pokes him right in the sternum.God, this little fucker. Griffin can't even deal with him.





	we can go back and play pretend

**Author's Note:**

> _i'm outside the door, invite me in_  
>  _so we can go back and play pretend_  
>  _i'm on deck, yeah, i'm up next_  
>  \- [alone together](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MuNTFGnVm4k), fall out boy
> 
> this installment subtitled: oh no they're all brats and this didn't go even slightly the direction i anticipated it would sdfkjgsdjfk

Griffin grabs Brian by the shirt collar and shoves him against the wall. Brian’s still smirking, as he hooks his fingers into Griffin’s belt loops.

“What is it, Griffin?” Brian says, sugar-sweet. “Can I help you?”

Griffin’s not — he wouldn’t consider himself a mean person. Not generally, and not even like this with Brian — Bri jokes that he’s not a real asshole, he just plays one on TV, which makes Pat snicker. Griffin can’t tell if it’s more or less damning ever since the show came out. They keep it pulled-punch, though, don’t dig their claws in too deep, careful not to press into anything that’ll cause real hurt. They’ve fucked it up before, of course they have, anyone will tell you that you’ll step in it no matter what you do, but they cuddle about it and talk about it until they’re sure they won’t fuck it up again.

And Brian always knows exactly when Griffin’s stressed in the way he needs to pound out. Knows how to _tease_ and bicker and work Griffin up, so they can tear into each other when they’re alone, to build it back up again.

“What’s your game, Gilbert?” Griffin growls, nose-to-nose with this smiling imp. He’s not even sure what Bri’s up to, exactly, just that he’s been needling Griffin all _day_ , winding him up to snap.

“Aw, daddy, I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Brian simpers. He hooks his index finger under Griffin’s chin, traces it down Griffin’s neck, down to his chest, pokes him right in the sternum.

God, this little fucker. Griffin can’t even deal with him. He drags Brian close and kisses him, hard, and Brian lets him lets him lets him, takes it even when Griffin gets bitey and pushy and handsy. He looks up at Griffin, rosy-cheeked and breathless, when Griffin finally lets him go.

“Wow, you really are worked up,” Brian says.

“Go get on the bed,” Griffin says, and shoves at Brian’s shoulder. Brian stumbles a half-step and _laughs_ , grins at Griffin before strutting off down the hall, swaying his hips _just so_.

Pat sticks his head out from the kitchen area, where he’s apparently been this whole time, probably doing the dishes that all three of them had put off. Whoops. Bless him. “Godspeed,” he quips. “Want me in there?”

“Give us a bit, I think we’re gonna be at each other’s throats a little longer before it works itself out,” Griffin says. “After that, fuck yeah.” Honestly, it’s more for Pat’s sake he tells him to wait — Pat’s indulgent of Griffin’s whims, was even more so before Brian came into the picture, but when it comes right down to it he knows Pat likes it sweet. He likes it to hurt a little, sometimes, but really only physically. Doesn’t like the shittalking, so much. Griff loves the sweet, of course, he _loves_ to make Pat melt — and Brian too, even though he’s a cocky little shit sometimes — but it’s fun to fight for it a little, too.

“Alright,” Pat says mildly, with a shrug. “I’ll finish the dishes and be along in a while. Don’t be too mean,” he says, with a little lopsided smile, and Griffin gives him a joking salute before he follows Brian off to the bedroom.

Brian is sprawled on the bed, completely nude, legs bent at the knee and feet planted on the mattress, arms folded behind his head. His hair is getting so long, these days, and it suits him so well.

(Suits Griffin well, too, when he can get his hand in it and yank him around.)

He looks up at Griffin through heavy-lidded eyes, that insufferable smirk on his lips.

“Ambitious, are you?” Griffin says, shrugging his hoodie off, eyebrows raised.

“Oh, you know me,” Brian says breezily. “You gonna join me? Or are you gonna keep your clothes on all night.”

God _dammit_ , he hates it when he does this, gets himself into a corner already. He strips his clothes off quickly, businesslike, because Brian is watching him downright lecherously and he will not give him the satisfaction, nope!

He gets on the bed and all but pounces on Brian, straddling his hips, his hands on Brian’s shoulders. Brian hardly reacts, which is fuckin’ rude, just goes with it and blinks placidly at him.

“Well?”

“Well, what?” Griffin bites out.

“You gonna kiss me, or what?”

He does, but he’s grouchy about it, scratches at Brian’s sides to make him writhe because it tickles and stings just a little too, bites his lip, pulls his hair. Brian’s showy in his response — overly so, whining and moaning, obviously put-on, and yet at the root of it it’s not altogether made up, either.

“You gonna touch me?”

“I am touching you,” Griffin says, digging his thumbs into Brian’s hips to demonstrate.

“Mm,” Brian hums, unimpressed. “Whatever you say, daddy.”

He’s goading him, and he falls for it every fucking time. He rocks his hips down, to get some friction between them. Brian’s eyelashes flutter, and he thinks it might be encouraging, except then Brian raises his eyebrows expectantly and he hasn’t _thought_ of any other tricks yet, okay, he hasn’t slowed down enough to think.

So, yeah, it’s fair enough, when Brian shoves Griffin off him, hard, sends Griffin sprawling onto his side. He scrabbles to push himself up but Brian puts his hand on Griffin’s collarbone and Griffin freezes.

“Huh,” Brian says. “Interesting.”

“W—what is?”

Brian grins, filthy-smug, almost feral. “ _You_.” He kisses him, just like Griffin had just done to him, rough, all teeth, no tenderness to be found in his mouth at all. Griffin gives a frustrated whine and grabs for Brian, but quick as a flash Brian’s grabbed his wrist and pushed him down onto his back. Mother _fucker_ , he needs to start working out so he can ever fight back. When they get to wrestling like this, Griffin scarcely stands a chance without a miracle or Brian letting him win.

(He _hates_ it when Brian lets him win.)

The hand on Griffin’s chest creeps up to his neck, rests against his throat — not pressing, hardly even touching, just _present_ — and Griffin’s breath hitches.

“Whaddaya think, _daddy_?” Brian sneers. Fucking _hell_ , that shouldn’t make his cock twitch, Jesus Christ. “You gonna be nice to me, or you gonna give me the reins?”

Griffin just stares at him, breathless.

“ _Answer_ me, McElroy.”

“Do what you want to me,” Griffin grits out, “ _sir_.”

“Good,” Brian says, smug. “Stay just like — _aagh!”_

Griffin cuts him off by grabbing him around the waist and knocking him off-balance again. He can see Brian’s barely restraining laughter — real laughter — because he loves this, the simple animal feeling of grappling with someone else ‘till they yield. God, Patrick should be here to see this, he loves a good wrassle. Shame. They’ll have to reprise it, some other time.

They’re careful with elbows and knees and kicking feet, as best they can be, though Griffin still gets an elbow to the gut and gets an exhale driven out of him with an oof and Brian jolts back to check if he’s okay. Griffin waves him off — _I’m fine, I’m fine, this is good, you’re good_ — and Brian hooks his leg around Griffin’s, uses the leverage to haul Griffin against him.

“Asshole — get me while I’m down —”

“You _said_ you were fine,” Brian says, and Griffin huffs out a laugh. He puts his hands on Brian’s shoulders and tries to shove him off, but Brian’s got all his limbs around Griffin like a fucking octopus and will not be budged.

“Bri- _an_ ,” Griffin whines, when he won’t give at all, and Brian just grins at him. His face is flushed with exertion, his eyes sparkling, his hair wild.

“I’ll ask again, Griffin, for politeness’s sake: you gonna be nice to me, or are you gonna give me the reins?”

“Fuck you,” Griffin says. “Those my only choices?”

“Hmm, let me think.” Brian pretends to ponder this for a half-second. “Yep! And I have it on good authority that Pat’s gonna be making his way over soon, so you better make your mind up or I’ll make it for you. You don’t want him to see us duke it out, do you?”

(Pat has seen them duke it out plenty of times. He even likes it, sometimes. But usually they try to behave for him.)

“You’re a brat,” Griffin snaps.

“So are you,” Brian says, quite cheerfully. “Ten seconds, Griff, change your fuckin’ tune or we’re doing this my way.”

He spends most of those ten seconds trying to think what Brian’s way will possibly consist of, and then thinking _oh shit I need to decide_ , and then —

Well. He was always going to choose Brian’s way, anyway.

Brian pushes him down hard into the mattress. “You’re staying right there, McElroy,” he says, in a tone that invites no nonsense. “Do _not_ fucking move or you will not enjoy the consequences.”

(He bets he _would_ enjoy it, probably quite a lot.)

But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t have anywhere more interesting to go. He stays flat on his back and clenches his fists and watches Brian as he flits around the room to get his things together. He’s got — ooh, shit, he’s got the handcuffs, the fancy ones that were actually Brian’s own before they were all cohabitating, with the fluffy part inside because he’s extra as hell.

“Hands over your head. Chin up,” Brian says, and Griffin slants a glare at him — just for fun — but obliges. “You don’t behave, you don’t get to touch. Patrick and I are gonna have fun with you, oh boy.”

Griffin lifts his chin, defiantly — well, as defiant as one can get while explicitly obeying orders — and puts his hands where Brian wants them. He closes his eyes for a moment, lets Brian kneel over his lap and organize him appropriately. Focuses on the sensations. The sound of Brian’s breathing. The sheets against his bare legs. Brian’s hands running along his arms, prodding and poking and adjusting.

“You’re _mine_ ,” Brian growls, possessive, his mouth on Griffin’s neck. Griffin gasps, cants his hips up to try and get closer to him, but he’s not close enough and when he goes to move there’s just a clatter of the cuffs against the metal headboard.

Goddammit.

“You gonna behave for Patrick, or do you need more time with me?”

Griffin considers this. He _could_ behave, but. “Work me up more first,” he says, and Brian grins, wicked.

“Oh, _Griffin_ , you are too good,” he breathes. “How hard can I push?”

“Hard as you want.”

“Fuck _yes_.”

Brian drops down between Griffin’s legs, leans forward like he’s gonna suck his dick, but then grabs Griffin’s leg and hauls it over his shoulder and bites his inner thigh, hard enough to fucking _hurt_ , he’s gonna have a fuckin’ dental record of Brian’s teeth on his skin, Jesus. He hears the soft click of a cap opening, and not moments later he feels Brian’s fingers —

“Christ, that’s fucking cold, have some manners, will you?” Griffin hisses.

“I very much will not,” Brian says haughtily. Griffin sighs, which hitches into a groan when Brian presses his fingers into him. Brian tosses his hair and smirks at him. It’s such a goddamn shame how he can look so angelic while he does this, with those big sweet eyes and soft wavy hair and even his most taunting smirk is goofy and beautiful —

Griffin’s whole body jerks when Brian angles his fingers just right, making him gasp, tugging the restraints, so of course Brian does it _again_ and makes Griffin grit his teeth and try not to whimper at him. It feels so fucking good, and so of course Brian can’t let it stand alone. Brian knows, by now, the exact kinds of pleasure-pain that get Griffin writhing and cursing and begging; he’s a quick study, and Griffin’s not hard to figure out. Don’t pull his hair — do push him around, shove him down — get him to hold still long enough and he can take a hit, anywhere but his face — get him ass-up and he’ll take worse than that.

He’s on his back, though, and staring up at Brian — but Brian’s got teeth and terrible pinching fingers and blunt (glossy mint-green) fingernails to leave bright sparks of pain and yet somehow still doesn’t let up as he works Griffin open. This motherfucker can multitask like a champion; Griffin shouldn’t, honestly, be surprised anymore, but _damn_. He’s relentless; it seems like he’s everywhere at once, touching his neck and his chest and thighs and the place deep inside him that sends bolts of brilliant light through him as he fucks his fingers into Griffin.

“You’re not getting anything other than this ‘till you’re begging for it, so I hope you’ve got some of your pretty words in there, babe.”

Griffin’s panting, trying to find the right thing to say, and Brian drags his nails down Griffin’s chest, pressing down hard enough to sting, and Griffin gasps at it, at the thin red lines that blush across his skin.

“Speak up,” Brian snaps, “tell me what you want.” He curls his fingers inside Griffin and Griffin whines. “Use your fucking _words_ ,” he says, deliberately enunciating each syllable.

“Fuck me,” Griffin manages to gasp out, “please?”

“Hm,” says Brian. “You can do better than that. What do you need as incentive, daddy?” The little sneer when Brian says that thrills through Griffin. It’s good, when it’s sincere. It’s even better, when Brian tosses it in his face like this, glib or biting sarcasm.

“Hit me,” Griffin says, and the fierce grin on Brian’s face sends a spike of anticipation through him. Brian sits back and looks him over, appraising, and then quick as anything backhands the side of Griffin’s thigh, real close to his ass. Griffin inhales sharply.

“Like that?”

“Yes.”

Griffin’s easier to get to than he’d like to admit. Brian makes him spread his legs and hold them up so he can get to the back of his thighs; he can’t support them with his hands because they’re trapped over his head, so Brian does him a small mercy and hoists one calf up onto his shoulder. It’s a little awkward, though not really uncomfortable. He’s sure he must look a sight, that if Pat walked in right now he’d get an obscene view of Griffin’s hard cock, his ass, legs up and open —

“Pay _attention_ to me,” Brian growls, and punctuates that with a resounding slap to the back of his thigh. Griffin jerks his head towards Brian. “Better. You’ll get what you want when you’re nice. When you _tell me_ what you want.” He hits him in the exact same spot; it stings a little more this time. He’s got a good arm and devastating accuracy. He can make Griffin goddamn well cry if he wants to, but Griffin doesn’t think that’s his goal right now, more to make some noise and make Griffin jump — 

“Griffin —” _smack_ “fucking —” _smack_ “McElroy, I need you to use that goddamn pretty mouth of yours and beg for me, so help me god —” _smack_ “or I’m keeping you like this all fucking night and I won’t even touch your dick.”

“Please,” Griffin gasps. Brian’s eyes snap to his face. He arches his eyebrows and waits him out for a moment, changes his position so he can get to Griffin’s other side, but Griffin’s just breathing hard, still not talking —

“You little brat, you just want to be hit, don’t you,” Brian says. He pushes his thumbnail into where his skin is sure to be flushed pink. Griffin closes his eyes. “Look at me.” God, he can sound fucking _icy_ , when he wants to. “You’re gonna take five, and then you’re gonna —”

He doesn’t say what exactly he’s _gonna_ , because he hits him again, and god it’s the fucking unpredictability that gets him the worst, makes him take a sharp breath and before he can recover from that he slaps him once, twice, three more times in quick succession. Yeah, alright, okay, definitely not take five in the break sense, fuck. His eyes are dark and focused and he has a truly incredible poker face, looks genuinely pissed off, even though Griffin knows from experience if anything silly happens accidentally he’ll topple over laughing in a heartbeat.

It is downright startling, how well Brian’s got Griffin figured out. He pinches Griffin — fucking _hard_ , what the fuck — behind his knee and he sort of squeals and Brian cackles, and while he’s still reeling from surprise, Brian reaches over and circles the base of Griffin’s cock with his thumb and forefinger at the very same time as he hits him one last time and Griffin cries out, between the twin shocks of sensation, _oh jesus god fuck Brian please, please please fuck me holy fucking shit I need something inside me right now please_ —

“There we go,” Brian says, smugly. Griffin would like to kick him, if he wasn’t manhandling both his legs. “I knew you’d get there. I’m going to get Patrick.”

“Don’t _leave_ me, what the fuck!”

“Color?”

“Green, you’re just an _asshole_ —”

“Mm, tell me about it, daddy.” He pinches Griffin’s ass and Griffin sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Stay put,” he says as he stands, unnecessarily, because it’s not as if he can fucking go anywhere. “And you’re gonna be good for Pat, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Griffin mutters.

“Excuse me?”

“Yes, sir,” Griffin sighs.

Brian narrows his eyes and comes back over, rests a hand on Griffin’s knee. “You _will_ behave,” he says, and god the weight he puts behind his words, it’s so good, it rings through Griffin. He closes his eyes for a moment. Brian strokes his thumb where his hand rests, but keeps his tone stern. “Don’t make me send Pat out so I can deal with you. Okay?”

“Yes, sir,” Griffin says again, but this time actually means it.

“Good. I’ll be right back.” He leans over to press a kiss to Griffin’s temple, before he leaves the room and leaves Griffin to himself, to his bound hands and hard cock and his harsh ragged breathing.

It’s probably no more than a couple minutes, before Brian returns with Pat at his heels, but it feels like an eternity. Brian’s still stark naked, but Pat’s got pants on, though his shirt has evaporated somewhere.

“God _damn_ , Griffin,” Pat says, low, appreciative.

“I did all the work,” Brian says, and Pat snorts.

“I’m sure you did, baby.” He casts a conspiratorial smirk at Griffin, too quick for Brian to catch. “Tell me where I fit in, here.”

“I could name a few places,” Griffin says, grinning up at Pat.

“Griffin,” Brian says, sharp as the crack of a whip. Griffin rolls his eyes, and he gets a smack to his thigh for his trouble. “What’d I tell you.”

“Behave for Patrick,” Griffin sighs.

“If you’re not going to, tell me right now, and I’ll suck Pat off and won’t fucking touch you the rest of the night. Don’t think I won’t.”

Oh. There’s the incentive, then. Fuck. He went through with that threat all of once and it had been wild and honestly quite fun but he doesn’t think he’d want to do it again, at least not right now. Might not be a bad idea to get Brian to come up with a different ultimatum, in the future, but it works just fine right now, because he really _does_ want Pat to be nice to him. So.

“I’m sorry. I’ll behave,” Griffin says, and ducks his head and looks up at Brian through his eyelashes and tries to really sell it.

“I hope so. Can I trust you with Pat, or do you still need me to handle you?”

“Pat, please?” Griffin says.

Pat looks genuinely happy, almost surprised. Brian turns to Pat, tilts his chin up to kiss him. It’s the sweetest goddamn thing Griffin’s ever seen, the way Brian completely melts at Pat. There’s no sharp edges, when he’s got his focus on him, just sweet tender gentle, no matter what the situation. Griffin gets it, though; he’s sure he must be the same way. Hard not to be, with him. He watches appreciatively as Brian runs his hands down Pat’s front, kisses him slow and showy as he unzips Pat’s jeans.

Pat’s breathless and worked up, when Brian finally lets him go. He steps out of his pants and gets up on the bed, on hands and knees over Griffin.

“Hey, you,” Pat says softly. “Brian bein’ mean to you?”

Brian huffs, from somewhere behind Pat. They both ignore him.

“Terribly,” Griffin pouts.

“What a shame,” Pat says, and kisses him. Griffin loves it when they pull this shit; he’d joked about good-cop-bad-cop when they first hooked up, but didn’t think that Pat and Brian would turn it on him until Brian had brought it up, lying across his bed and carefully not looking at Griffin, because it was still early on, when he was still nervous to suggest his fucking _brilliant_ ideas. Pat is so sincere, with his soft lingering kisses and gentle hands; Brian, on the other hand, can be anything he wants to be, anything at all.

Given the positioning, it’s hard for Brian to get at Griffin while Pat’s kissing him, but somehow he persists. Well, really, he persistently keeps feeling up Griffin’s ass and thighs, which is incredibly distracting, especially when he teases his fingers at Griffin’s entrance and Griffin moans against Pat’s mouth.

He whines, when Pat pulls away; Pat glances over his shoulder at Brian, then back to Griffin. He strokes his fingers over Griffin’s hip.

“I wanna make you come, but Brian wants to take a turn first. Are you good with that?” Pat asks him, quiet. As if there’s any chance in the world Griffin would turn that down.

“Of course,” Griffin says. “Kiss me again first?”

Pat brushes his lips over Griffin’s lightly, then kisses his forehead. “Be good for him, okay? I’ll make you feel so good, I promise.”

“Thank you,” Griffin breathes, and Pat lets him go, moves away to let Brian take his place.

Brian’s hot — literally, metaphorically — and he takes Griffin’s face in his hands and kisses him hard, like he’s dying for it just as much as Griffin is. He wastes no time in getting down to business, which Griffin appreciates, because he’s been worked up for fucking _forever_. He presses his mouth against Griffin’s neck as he slides into him, slow and steady, even now, with too much goddamn composure to even be fair.

He’s perfunctory about it, though — he’s not chatty, too focused on his movements, on touching and kissing Griffin everywhere — which means he really is worked up, which means he was definitely getting off on Pat and Griffin kissing. And, too, it’s a preventative measure, ‘cause if Brian tips too far into tenderness while he’s fucking him, he’ll end up all sappy and sweet and it’ll ruin the whole mood prematurely. 

It’s very frustrating, that Griffin can’t get his hands on him, that he can’t pull his hair and fight back, that all he can do is take it as Brian takes him hard and fast. If Brian didn’t keep kissing him whenever he took a breath that sounded like he might even possibly be thinking about talking, he’d goad Pat into it for him. Asshole knows him way too well.

Brian gets Griffin by the hips as he thrusts into him, head down and breathing heavy, working so goddamn hard for it that Griffin’s honestly flattered. He hauls Griffin against him and presses his parted lips to the center of Griffin’s chest as he comes inside him with a moan that goes straight to Griffin’s dick, as if he could even possibly somehow be more turned on, jesus fucking christ.

Brian kisses Griffin, soft now, sweet, and strokes his thumb over Griffin’s cheek.

“I love you,” he murmurs. “You’re doing so good. Thank you, baby.”

Griffin leans towards him for one more kiss before he leaves to hop off the bed and clean himself up a little, letting Pat return to him.

Pat kisses his cheek. “You doin’ okay?”

“Yeah. Wouldn’t mind having my hands back, though? I want to touch you.”

Pat obliges him. When he kneels up to free him, his cock is precariously close to Griffin’s face, by which he means that he only has to lean forward a couple inches to lick it and Pat makes a startled — but not bad — sound.

“Jesus, Griffin, warn a guy next time!”

“Okay. Hey, Patrick, I’m going to put my mouth on your dick.”

“Thanks, I fi- _iigured_ ,” Pat gasps, as Griffin this time goes for sensation rather than surprise. He’s been with Pat for — jeez, more than a year now — and knows just exactly how to make him weak in the knees.

“Fuck me, please, baby?” Griffin says, wrapping his arms around Pat, grateful to be able to hold him. “I want you to make me come, like you promised.”

“I didn’t promise you anything,” Pat teases, and slides down Griffin’s body so he’s nearer to where Griffin wants him. Griffin runs his fingers through Pat’s hair, tugs him in for a kiss. Pat’s wonderful to kiss, to touch, to fuck; he’s considerate, solicitous, especially if he’s driving ‘cause he doesn’t much, especially now with Brian in the mix. “You good?”

“Of _course_ , oh my god.”

Griffin tightens his grip on Pat’s hair as he presses into him, tilts his head back and moans. Pat ghosts his fingers over Griffin’s cock and Griffin jerks at the touch.

“Hey, hey,” Pat murmurs, soothingly, and does the same thing again. Griffin tries not to writhe under him, not to buck up against him, but it’s a real challenge under the circumstances. “Let me, alright?”

So Griffin yields to him, lets him press slow soft openmouthed kisses to his neck and shoulders and chest, lets him rock his hips slow and deliberate, as if he hasn’t already gotten fucked once, as if he doesn’t still have Brian’s cum in him — he moans aloud at the thought, of Pat inside him where Brian just was.

“Feel good, baby?” Pat says against the side of his neck.

“Yeah, fuck, _yes_ , love having you inside me.”

“You’re so good, you feel amazing, fuck, god, you feel so good, will you pull my hair please —”

Griffin huffs a laugh as he acquiesces.

“Awful rude to laugh at someone who’s fucking you so nice,” Brian drawls. Pat and Griffin both look up at him; he sticks his tongue out at them and gets back up onto the bed. “Sorry, don’t mind me, I won’t micromanage further.”

“Yeah right,” Pat mumbles, beating Griffin to it, which he’s grateful for because he would certainly get chastised, but Brian lets Pat get away with goddamn anything.

All thoughts of snarkiness are vaporized immediately, though, when Pat gets a hand around Griffin’s cock. Griffin cries out, pitiful and wanting, a sound he’d be embarrassed by if his concept of shame wasn’t driven away on contact. Pat’s not much of a talker, most of the time, usually reduced to frantic staccato syllables if anything, but he presses his cheek to Griffin’s and breathlessly tells Griffin he’s so _fucking good, so good for me, god, you’re incredible, c’mon, Griffin, come for me, baby, please_ —

Pat times it out so right, so that as Pat pushes his face against Griffin’s shoulder, rocks up into him fast and desperate, gasping, Griffin’s coming too, his hands tangled in Pat’s hair, caught between Pat’s hand and his cock, head thrown back just to take it, all of it, all the sensation, until he finally gives a sort of whine that means _okay stop too much_ and Pat releases him.

He drags a hand over his (sweaty, ew) face, breathing hard, and holds out his arm for Pat to curl up on his side next to him. Brian joins them thusly, on Griffin’s other side. He plants a loud kiss on Griffin’s cheek, which makes Griffin laugh.

“Dork,” Griffin says, and kisses him back; Brian grins at him. Pat pushes his face against the side of Griffin’s neck, snuggling up close and comfortable. “Oh, no you don’t, Patrick, I am so gross, don’t you dare fall asleep on me.”

“Wasn’t gonna,” Pat mumbles, like a liar.

“Brian, save me from him, I’ll be trapped here forever by the sleepiest man in the world,” Griffin complains, as Pat slings his arm over Griffin’s midsection and his leg over Griffin’s leg. He feels the flutter of Pat’s eyelashes as he blinks his eyes open, the shift of his face when he grins, probably at Brian, as he holds Griffin tighter.

Brian sighs dramatically, shakes his head. “Only ‘cause I love you so,” he says, and takes Pat’s hand and pries him off of Griffin. Pat makes a complaining sound, but goes with it, rolls over onto his back and pouts at Brian. “Don’t make that face, you’ll bitch about it if you don’t get up now too,” Brian says.

“Mean,” Pat huffs, and sits up. There’s amusement in his expression, though, and he leans over and kisses Brian.

“I know, I’m awful,” Brian croons, close to his lips, and steals another kiss. Griffin sits up, to interrupt their Griffin-less flirting, and wraps his arms around both of them.

“You guys are cute, but it’d be cuter if you were paying more attention to me,” Griffin says. Pat raises his eyebrows. “Just sayin’.”

“Oh, right, yeah, Brian was so so mean to you and you want to be fussed over, I almost forgot,” Pat says, teasing.

“You missed a whole wrestling match, don’t be smug,” Griffin says.

“Is that what that was? Shame. I wasn’t really sure what all that thunking around was about.”

“There was a whole variety of thunking around, I think,” Brian says, with too much of a smirk.

“I don’t even wanna know,” Pat sighs. “You are too much.”

“You love us though,” Griffin says.

“Of course. Griff, no offense, but you’re real sweaty.”

“And whose fault is that!” Griffin says, indignant. “Come on, babes, you have to be nice to me, it’s the law.”

“Mhm. Griffin’s law of aftercare,” Brian says, moving aside to let Griffin up.

“I know you’re teasing and I don’t care,” Griffin says, as he stands. He gets both of them by the hand and tugs at them until they finally acquiesce to standing. “Lazybones.”

“And what of it,” Pat says.

Griffin grins at him. “I love you. Both of you.”

“You sap,” Brian says, and kisses his cheek. “I love you too.”

“I love you guys also as well, can I please go shower now,” Pat says.

“I knew you’d grouch about it,” Brian says. Pat rolls his eyes with all the drama he can muster, but steals a kiss from Brian before he leaves the room. Brian turns to Griffin, takes his hand and squeezes it. “You alright?”

“Yeah, baby. Thank you.”

“Of course. Anytime. Let’s go make sure Pat doesn’t use up all the hot water and then I’m gonna cuddle you for the next, like, twenty-four hours or so.”

“Sounds ideal,” Griffin says, smiling, and lets himself be led.

**Author's Note:**

> yee and haw  
> hope you liked whatever the heck this is sdkfjhdkfjg
> 
> you know the drill, @segmentcalled on twitter lmk if you req, comments moderated and deleted as requested!


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